Undisclosed Desires
by skyequeen
Summary: Set after the Inkheart movie, so AU. Meggie is read into Inkworld years later with no clue why she is there. Meggie/Dustfinger. Rated T for sexual references. No flames please, first fic!
1. Chapter 1

Meggie didn't know where to go. She knew Inkworld, at least visually, like the back of her hand but she was disorientated and dizzy from the journey. She hoped to god she hadn't attracted any attention, she thought fervently as she clutched the ground for support. She did not want to re-acquaint herself with Capricorn and his men anytime soon. Now, a stone courtyard...she stared hard at the square pillars and corridors leading off it. It looked familiar. The architecture screamed of The Adderhead's Castle and that was definitely the last place she wanted to be. So time to move, then. She picked herself up off the floor slowly. Noone had come running, which was a good sign. Maybe there was a to-do in the main hall that was keeping everybody busy; she hoped that was the reason anyway. Automatically brushing away gravel and dirt from her jeans, Meggie scrutinised the possibilities. Standing out here in the open was not a very good plan, so one of these exits must lead out of the castle – but which one? Perhaps she should just follow her instincts and keep moving. She strode purposefully but stealthily towards the corridor to her left, feeling a little bit drunk. There was a large wooden door in front of her which she opened, careful to make as little noise as possible. Peering around it she saw a wide, airy passage with glassless windows at either side. There was no one in sight. Meggie edged into the corridor and closed the door behind her. She took several calming breaths to try and ease her dizziness, then approached a window to get her bearings. Through it she could see the blockish towers and turrets of the castle. That was the main section, which was good, so she needed to head away from there and into the city itself. She headed along the corridor and took a narrower one to her right, then to her left, then to her right again. Then she stopped. Could she hear voices? There were faint sounds coming from up ahead and she willed her heartbeat to quieten so she figure out what the sounds meant. Eventually the keeping-moving thing kicked in again and she carried on down the corridor until one of the doors opened on her left with a bang and she jumped. A serving woman bustled out with a basket load of fresh washing and was half-way across the hall when she paused and frowned at Meggie.

"'Ello love, you're dressed awful strange. You're one of those travelling folk 'ain't cha? You lost? You don't wannah be late for the show tonight, ey?"

Meggie did her best pathetic lost-puppy eyes and shook her head meekly. It was always best to pretend to be a child in these situations, she figured. The woman sighed.

"No matter. I'll show you the way, you being such a pretty little thing 'n' all. Master's men'd have you snatched up in a jiffy. C'mon then!" Struggling to walk straight, Meggie did her best to keep up and followed her swishing white hem doggedly until she halted abruptly in front of some double doors.

"They're in there," She told the blonde girl, and tried for a kind smile. She looked ill the poor thing – some of these travelling players barely earned enough to feed themselves nowadays. Meggie bobbed her head and smiled shakily back before opening the door onto the chattering and bickering of a group of performers getting ready for their show. She watched the servant woman go, and prepared herself for a second attempt at fleeing. As she stepped forward her legs failed her and she tried vainly to cling onto the door handle, but it wasn't enough and she slumped into a sitting position, head spinning.

(After she's been sick and passed out).

Meggie woke up rather warm and comfortable. Apart from a pounding headache, that is. She burrowed into the blankets, wishing for more sleep but it wasn't happening. The golden-haired girl groaned and sat up gradually, putting her head in her hands. Ow...She winced and then suddenly realised where she was and what had happened. She'd been read into Inkworld. Into the Adderhead's Castle. She'd been sick, carried somewhere... She glanced around, documenting her surroundings. She was in the servants quarters, it seemed. Someone's bunk-bed, swathed in a motley assortment of green and brown covers. The travelling players were asleep in the twenty or so beds around her, some snoring loudly – no doubt tired out from the festivities of the night before. At least she hadn't been reported to Capricorn. Well not yet, anyway. She supposed she should be thankful for small mercies. As she swung her legs gingerly over the side of the bunk they made contact with something soft, which shifted when she kicked it. She looked down to see a sleeping blonde man, curled into an awkward position on the uneven stone floor.

He looked exactly as she remembered him, yet different somehow. His face was peaceful in sleep, his sandy hair mussed over his face, his chest smoothly rising and falling. The man's long body was tangled up in several more tatty pieces of fabric akin to those on her bed, a bunch of them bundled up under his cheek as a makeshift-pillow. Dustfinger. It must have been him who had recognised her, who had spoken her name. Always the gentleman, giving up his bed for her. She smiled despite her headache and for some reason, reached out to brush a stray curl back from his face. It had been so long since she had seen him, she had almost forgotten he was a real live breathing person, and not a figment of a child's imagination. Meggie lowered her feet gently to the floor and stood slowly, conscious of waking anyone. This would be the perfect time to leave – while most of the castle's occupants were passed out, full of booze and likely to be incapacitated until noon. If she could get into the city she could barter some kind of food and board – at least until she figured out how to get back. Or Mo might read her back. If he could. However, she had barely got to the door when a low voice stopped her:

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." She turned to see blue eyes regarding her amusedly from under a mop of sandy hair.

"Why not?" She hissed back indignantly, "Everyone'll be asleep! If I can just get to the city-."

"You won't get that far," He interrupted bluntly. He had propped himself up on an elbow and was smiling very slightly. Meggie glared at him, but he carried on calmly.

"Everyone may be resting but they still post guards on the gates. The Adderhead's not stupid y'know."

"And neither am I! I could find a way to get past them, sneak past them, or borrow some clothes." She didn't know why she was arguing with him when he was coming up with such reasonable points, but his attitude annoyed her. She wasn't a child, and she didn't need to be treated like one.

"I'm sure you could, but then what? This isn't a game, Princess. I don't know why you're here but you won't last long without help." He sat up languidly and stretched, reminding Meggie of a cat, rolling his neck and shoulder muscles as he loosened up his stiff body.

"And I suppose you're going to help me are you?" For a moment she sounded just like Elenor and she cringed inwardly, but stood her ground. Dustfinger met her defiant gaze, his expression unreadable.

"Yes. Your father once helped me all those years ago, even after I betrayed you all. It is only fair that I keep you safe." He stood up, and Meggie was suddenly aware of how tall he was. Taller than Mo, taller than a lot of people, she would think.

"I'm not becoming part of a debt you think you owe to Mo," She looked him straight in the eyes as she said this, "I will not be a burden – and what's more: I don't need to be." With that she grabbed a cloak from a nearby bench and slipped into the corridor, pulling it around her until the best part of her jeans and t-shirt were covered. She could do this. All she had to do was navigate her way to the nearest gate.

With a clearer head than her last attempt, Meggie moved down the corridor and followed her instincts until she spotted some half-drunk guards still swinging bottles of mead as they made their way to their posts. She grinned to herself. If they were all this intoxicated, getting out of here would be easy. She tailed them at a distance of about 3 yards until they split off into 3 and 2 at a junction. She decided to take the larger group, and was rewarded when they exited the castle into the courtyard before a quite menacing-looking battlement, complete with heavy metal portcullis. Time for the second part of her plan. Pausing just outside the courtyard, and making sure there was nobody in sight – apart from the guards, who had their backs to her anyway, she dropped the weighty cloak and stripped off her t-shirt, shoving it in her jeans pocket. She then re-donned the cloak, but in such a way that left one shoulder bare and healthy amount of cleavage. She contemplated taking her shoes off as well, but figured she could hide them with the length of the cloak. Finally, she messed up her already messy hair and rubbed a bit of courtyard dirt in her hair and on her face. Good times, she thought wryly, and approached the guards in what she hoped was a drunken state of cheeriness.

"G'mornin' chaps!" She announced, meandering convincingly as they spun to apprehend her. She pretended to trip up, and one of the poor men clumsily tried to catch her. She used him to regain her 'balance', giggling.

"I don't suppose..." She giggled some more, "You know the way to the Bishop's Arms?" It was a common-folk pub her mother had mentioned in her recollections of Inkheart. She only hoped it was still there. The henchmen leered at her, their smiles filled with spirits and drunken lust.

"You're a pretty lass...how comes we didn't see you last night? Woulda recognised hair like yours. All nice and golden..." One of them reached out and grasped a handful of her hair. She kept the giddy smile on her face and lurched closer.

"Who knows? If you weren't on duty I could show you more of me that's," She made quote marks in the air, " 'golden'." They both laughed uproariously at this.

"She's good. I wouldn't mind a bit of that!" Meggie grinned playfully and managed to pull out of the first man's grip, dancing backwards towards the pedestrian entrance next to the gate.

"I'll be back next juggle-night, how's about you keep an eye out for me then? I'll be keeping an eye out for you..." With that parting gift she pulled open the door and sauntered through it, fairly confident they weren't suspicious of her.

"Oh we will!" One of them shouted after her, "We'll look out for you, Golden-hair!"

She had zig-zagged her way merrily down the main road into the town when she was pulled with a yelp into some bushes out of sight of the gate.

"That was quite a performance, Princess." Her captor murmured into her ear, and she angrily tore herself free, spinning to face Dustfinger, who was leaning nonchalantly against a tree and looking far too pleased with himself.

"Don't you have, like, a family to go to? Someone else to stalk, perhaps?" She snapped, moving to carry on down the path. He was beside her in an instant, hand around her arm.

"Let go of me!" She protested, trying to get away but to no avail.

"No, I don't," He didn't elaborate, "And you may have foiled some merry guards but you won't get very far looking like that. You're far too young to be wandering around by yourself in Inkworld. Not all men have their senses dulled through cheap wine." He offered her one of his unpleasant smiles, but she didn't smile back. Instead she met his gaze icily.

"And who says I'll be safe with you?" His smile dimmed and he suddenly looked very serious.

"I meant what I said, Meggie. I'll look after you."

"I don't trust you."

"What other choice do you have? Where are you going to go? You have nothing and you know nobody. I'm all you have." He wasn't mocking her this time, and as much as Meggie didn't want to give in he was right. She had nobody in this world. She may not trust him, but he was definitely the lesser of many possible evils.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! Thanks so much for the story adds and reviews . You're all awesome ^_^.

Just a quick note to say that Inkheart/world doesn't belong to me. Only the random other characters do. In this case, Rochelle. Also, I haven't actually read Inkspell and I've only skim-read some of Inkdeath and Inkheart so my knowledge of the world is partly my interpretation of medieval-ness, partly from the films and the books. In this fic Dustfinger does have Brianna and Roxanne (spelling?) but he's making his own destiny, as hinted at in the film.

"Fine." She consented, and pulled her cloak around her shoulders when she realised how much skin she was showing. Suddenly she wasn't on a mission anymore and she didn't know what to do next. The girl turned and looked at the man who she was being forced to trust – again. He really did look different. Maybe it was because she was older and he had stayed the same. He had leaned back against the tree, his arms folded across his chest, staring off into the distance. The bright morning sun was shining through the trees dappling his wavy blonde hair and catching in his striking blue eyes. Dustfinger was actually...good-looking. Unnervingly so. He met her gaze then and scrutinised her quite thoroughly back. Just like the first time they'd met. She wondered what he saw. He looked away again and spoke as though there hadn't been a break in conversation.

"I'll take you to one of my landladies. I'm sure she would be happy to put us up; she does me from time to time." He bent to pick up his characteristically meagre, well-worn bag.

"How will we pay her?" Meggie kept up with his long strides as he started down the main path.

"I have my trade, you read and write. I teach you the basics of Inkworld lettering and how to use a quill and you'll be our resident scribe. Unless you have any other talents I should know about?"

"I know a little book-doctoring." She admitted.

"Well that's a bonus. You really are your father's daughter, young Meggie." He smiled at her, an actual open-mouthed proper smile showing straight white teeth. It was a very good look for him, she wished he would smile like that more often.

"It's been six years since you left. Does time pass differently here, or...?"

Dustfinger hesitated for several seconds before answering.

"No, but a lot has happened since then."

"You don't look any different to me. I mean you look different, but you don't seem to have aged at all."

"I don't?" He smiled fleetingly at her again, then was sober, "I feel like I have." Meggie thought perhaps she had pushed her luck with her questions so she was silent for the rest of the walk, contemplating mostly why she was here and what she was going to do. And wondering what Mo and Elenor were doing in her world. If they were finding a way to read her back out.

They reached the city in just under two hours, which for Meggie, was quite a trek. She wasn't overweight in anyone's estimations but she certainly wasn't fit. That was one of the downsides of modern life, she supposed. As they moved swiftly through what she presumed were the back alleys of Inkworld – she didn't really see Dustfinger as the main street type – the man himself kept on shooting her looks out of the corner of his eye. It was almost like he was going to ask her if she was ok, but then he didn't. If he expected her to go all damsel in distress on him he was going to be sorely disappointed. If she was going to be a character in this story she may as well give her best shot at being a strong one. One she'd approve of. One Mo and Elenor would be proud of. It was weird to think of herself in that way. She was starving, though. Trekking on an empty stomach after being sick the night before wasn't really much fun.

"We're nearly there." Muttered the blonde man, as though he wanted to make up for all the random glances. Meggie didn't speak until they stopped in front of a tavern which looked like it had been squeezed into its place; all wiggly lines and awkward beams. A metal sign swung absently from an elaborate hook. 'The Golden Phoenix', it read, with a couple of fire-y feathers painted around it. She smiled, and caught Dustfinger's gaze.

"I can see why you would stay here."

He gave her a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation, then pushed open the door and held it for her. Always the gentleman. She went inside and waited for Dustfinger, who walked past her and up to the bar. She joined him there.

"Rochelle?" He called, waited for a few seconds then tried again.

"Alright, alright!" Came an exasperated female voice, and a woman of about 40 strode out from behind a heavy wooden door to meet them. She was deftly sewing a rip in her sleeve together as she walked, which personally Meggie thought was quite an impressive feat. Rochelle pulled the thread taught and broke it with her teeth in one swift movement. As she did so she smiled widely at them both and tucked the needle and thread into her apron pocket.

"Thought I recognised your voice, Dustfinger, who's the young woman wi'cha?" There was something about her which reminded the blonde girl of a lion. There was a feral quality to the smile that she now directed at Meggie, and she got the impression that she would be a good person to have on her side. Or maybe to be on the good side of. She wasn't sure.

"Meggie," Meggie introduced herself and smiled uncertainly back. Rochelle put her on edge.

"Meggie," The woman repeated thoughtfully, then held out her hand, "I'm Rochelle, as you may've gathered from Dustfinger's caterwauling." She shot the man a look and he had the decency to look at least a little ashamed, even if he didn't mean it. Meggie shook the small but strong callused hand.

"I take it you're after lodging?" She was straight to the point, Rochelle was starting to grow on Meggie already.

"We are," Replied Dustfinger quickly, as though he was afraid Meggie would step in again, "I don't want to put you out – again – but we would really appreciate food and board." Wow, he could be gracious when he wanted to, Meggie was pleased to note. He also looked desperate, which probably helped his cause.

"I see. Well, I happen to have a spare room for the moment. How long will y'be stayin' ?" He looked at Meggie then, who told him with her eyes that she had no idea how long she would be here. Weeks, months...hopefully not years. That thought scared her so she dashed it from her mind quickly and wiped her face clean of fear. Dustfinger's gaze kept hers for a moment too long, then he smiled and turned to Rochelle.

"Not too long." This wasn't really a satisfactory answer, but the innkeeper let it slide. She was obviously used to his secrecy. Or flightiness.

"It's yours," She said, "One show a week, two when I ask. Wh'bout Meggie, she looks a little thin t'be helpin' me out," Rochelle looked Meggie up and down. How she could tell when she was wearing a floor-long cloak, Meggie would never know.

"How old are you, Meggie, if y'don't mind me askin'?"

"Eighteen. And I can read and write. And repair used books, if that's any use." Rochelle's expression was curious.

"Interesting talents f'r a young woman. I may ask for y'help 'round the place if things get busy. Have me own staff, but sometimes that ain't enough. Dustfinger 'ere's no help. 'E can't clean glasses without dropping 'em." Meggie hid a smile at the thought of the tall man trying to polish glasses. Dustfinger narrowed his eyes at Rochelle, and then at Meggie but didn't say anything.

"I can do that."

"Good. Well, that's settled then. If you give me a few minutes I'll get the room sorted. Would y'like a drink while y'wait?" There was that word again. Room. One room. Suddenly Meggie wondered what Rochelle thought her and Dustfinger were. Did she think they were...together?

"Could we have some water sent to our quarters, please?" Rochelle nodded. As the landlady left, the blonde girl turned to the fire-juggler and frowned at him.

"What?" He was confused. Meggie couldn't think of a way to approach the subject without sounding ungrateful, so she left it – for now.

"Nothing."

He frowned back at her, then sat down at the nearest table, his coat pooling around his feet. Wasn't he warm? She supposed he had to be prepared for all weather, travelling around like he did. She took a wooden bar-stool and they waited in silence. This silence thing seemed to be getting fairly common between them. She hoped it wouldn't become a regular occurrence, she wasn't sure she could cope with it 24/7. Luckily, at this point Dustfinger decided to talk.

"So...you were read here?"

"I don't know. I presume so. One second I'm minding my own business, the next I'm in the Castles of Ombre feeling like crap."

"That's it?"

"That's it, sorry." She looked him directly in the eyes. He had very expressive eyes when he wasn't hiding his emotions. At the moment they were confused, troubled. Then he guarded them and they both looked away. Meggie had a moment of hysteria. How did she get here? Stuck in a tavern with Dustfinger, ready to pay her rent in Inkworld. Rochelle came back to the bar and told them the 'room' was ready. Her and Dustfinger got to their feet, thanked her – the man giving her a few coins from a pocket in his great-coat – then climbed the stairs to their living quarters. Thankfully, realised Meggie, when she stood in the doorway and surveyed the place, it was quarters, and not a single tiny room. It was a fairly large open attic space, with a fireplace at the furthest end and a window at either side – both of which were open, letting a fresh breeze waft around them. There was a single comfy-looking chair next to the fireplace, a second more couch-like thing to their left next to a small round table with a wash basin on it and finally a double bed on the right. A separate room accompanied this, in which was a large metal bath and a privacy partition. All in all, Meggie was satisfied, and turned round to thank her companion but he'd disappeared. Oh well, she supposed she should make herself at home.


End file.
